


A Solution For Doubt

by Arrestzelle



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Insecurity, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Pre-Rammstein Era, Roommates, Sharing a Bed, showering together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 10:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30104730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: “Yeah… So…” Schneider begins, reluctant to say it himself, it seems. Olli nods.“I’m gay. I’m telling you both. I figured it’s about time.”Richard’s mouth opens, and he gapes at him—when Schneider pans his gaze over to Richard, he can’t help but snort loudly, slapping his hand up over his own mouth. He looks at Olli, shocked himself. Richard closes his mouth with a click of his teeth, and huffs a harsh laugh.“Well, cool. We are, too.”Olli finds himself unintentionally, but gladly, walking into a sexual relationship already shared between Richard and Schneider.
Relationships: Oliver Riedel/Christoph Schneider | Doom, Richard Kruspe/Christoph Schneider | Doom, Richard Kruspe/Oliver Riedel, Richard Kruspe/Oliver Riedel/Christoph Schneider | Doom
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	A Solution For Doubt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wahnsinn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wahnsinn/gifts).



> This is a work for Kid!! Thanks so much. I appreciate your patience. ♡
> 
> Olli is 21-22 here. Which makes Richard around 25-26, and Schneider 26-27.

It started in the form of a card. A card with a purposefully chosen atrocious design on the front, as if a twelve year old kid opened up a paint program and decided they excelled in graphic design. It’s something you’d buy in a dollar store on the discount shelf. Inside, it has clip art of a birthday cake, presents, and an obnoxiously beaming smiley face.

From within its unsealed envelope, it’s withdrawn by Schneider’s fingers. Seated at their much-too-small kitchen table, Richard and Schneider sit shoulder to shoulder. Olli watches from where he stands at the kitchen counter, one hand in the pocket of his shorts, bringing a glass of water to his mouth. His face shows nothing, impeccably schooled while a jittery sense of nervousness coiled in his gut. Schneider opens the card.

It had originally proclaimed “ _Congratulations! You’re nine!_ ” (" _Glückwunsch, du bist neun Jahre alt!_ ") but rather than leave it be, Olli had crossed it out vigorously with a marker and wrote below: “ _I’m gay._ ”

That has Richard bursting out a sharp laugh as soon as they register what the hell they’re looking at. Schneider starts laughing, too, turning it to show Olli as if he hadn’t written it himself. Both men look at the youngest with equally bewildered expressions.

“Is this a joke? What the hell, Olli?” Richard blurts out past his continuous laughter, reaching out to snatch the card back from Schneider, reading the three simplest words (“ _Ich bin schwul._ ”) that hold far too much meaning, when really, it shouldn’t matter at all. Olli shrugs. Schneider repeatedly looks between the card and the other man, speechlessly lost.

“It’s not a joke,” Olli says quietly, pausing to take a final drink of his water, an opportunity to regather his nerves as best he can. He sets down the glass behind him on the counter, faces the pair again, and crosses his arms. He straightens from the counter, paces over, earning both sets of eyes from his roommates, and drops down into the seat opposite of them. He reaches out to take the card, and Richard lets him. Olli flattens it on the table. He traces the three words with his fingertip, saying with the tiniest smirk pulling at his mouth, “It says ‘I’m gay’.”

He pats his hand atop it and slides it back over. Silence hangs over the trio. Olli settles back into his chair, crossing his arms, watching the pair flounder for a response to this, their faces traversing from alarmed amusement to confusion, and then, of course, curious eyes.

“Yeah… So…” Schneider begins, reluctant to say it himself, it seems. Olli nods.

“I’m gay. I’m telling you both. I figured it’s about time.”

Richard’s mouth opens, and he gapes at him—when Schneider pans his gaze over to Richard, he can’t help but snort loudly, slapping his hand up over his own mouth. He looks at Olli, shocked himself. Richard closes his mouth with a click of his teeth, and huffs a harsh laugh.

“Well, cool. We are, too.”

Leaning over, Richard holds out a hand, raised—prompting a high-five. It’s Olli’s turn to look between them in alarm, brow knit and lips twisted into a confused frown. Stunned, he unfolds his arms and reaches out to slowly, reluctantly high five Richard, who then grins broadly and turns to nudge Schneider on the shoulder. Schneider is blushing, Olli realizes. Schneider sighs.

“We’re… Kind of… Seeing each other,” he admits, gesturing lamely between the both of them.

“What?” Olli bursts out in a quiet laugh, “Are you serious? And I’ve never noticed?”

Richard leans forward onto his elbows, hands fiddling with the card, a slight smile on his face. “We’re not dating. We’re actually into women, too, but, well. Just happened. We tried to be stealthy about it around you, because, obviously, we didn’t know how you’d react to that shit. But, well, now we don’t have to worry!”

Speechless himself now, Olli can only look between them, utter bewilderment on his face. This is not how he anticipated this to go. He’s rightfully stunned into silence, hearing this confession. Mute, he watches Richard flip his bleached dreads back over his shoulder and knock his shoulder into Schneider’s. Schneider is pointedly scraping at a groove in the table with a fingernail, eyes lowered. Schneider sighs, dropping his hand against the surface.

“We were actually talking about telling you, too. Because we want you to join. Just messing around, nothing serious. So, yeah. Richard wants to have a threesome.”

“You do, too, you asshole!” Richard bursts out a laugh, shoving him on the shoulder, earning a sharp grin from Schneider, “Don’t pin it just on me!”

Schneider goes for a jab to Richard’s rib cage, but Richard snatches his wrist and sticks his tongue out at him. Schneider growls, shooting his other hand in to tickle his side, left exposed. Richard bursts out laughing, writhing back into his chair, twisting in an attempt to escape. He snatches his hand back from Schneider’s wrist if only to protect himself, shoving away his offending hand.

“Yeah, well, you brought it up, first!” Schneider retorts, slapping Richard’s dreads back like a brat. Richard wraps an arm around Schneider’s shoulders, pulls him in, and gives him a sweet smile. He brings his hand up to gently show him his middle finger. Schneider laughs lowly, rolling his eyes. Richard leans in to smooch him on the cheek. Schneider makes a face. Olli speaks up then, having gathered his thoughts.

“So… Let’s do it, then.”

Complete attention is refocused on him. Eyes wide, mouths dropped. Despite his pounding heart and the anxious twisting of his stomach, Olli has to smile at that. Idiots.

“What? Really?” Richard stammers, shocked. Schneider’s face is as red as a tomato. Olli nods, taking in a breath. He speaks calmly, a mask to hide his actual uncertainty, his lack of confidence.

“Which bedroom?”  
  


* * *

The first couple weeks are dreamlike. Fantasies coming to fruition: cuddling together like nicely packed spoons under the overwhelming amount of blankets on Richard’s queen-sized bed (the biggest one they have in the flat), squeezing into the shower together despite its inadequate size, giving and receiving spontaneous expressions of affection, both physical and verbal. Olli can be standing in the kitchen, busy with pouring the three of them orange juice in the morning, and Schneider will come up behind him, kiss him on the back of the head (because, at least, he can reach), and ask him how he slept. Olli still feels like this is unreal. How could he find himself in an arrangement like this, with his friends? Could it possibly be the influence of their newfound freedom? Is this the so-called “West influence” that every other middle-aged East German seems to gripe about? Gaying it up with your roommates? Olli isn’t complaining.

The first couple weeks make him feel like he’s experiencing the height of perfect friendship, without dipping too far into the aspect of something _more_. He’s not used to it—easy, comfortable friendship. He’s used to his own shyness ruining potential outcomes, his quiet nature that turns people off. It’s the fearless hand-holding that truly touches him, the unashamed way Richard pulls him into a sweet, tender kiss as soon as they climb into bed to sleep, or Schneider giving him a warm smile when Olli sits beside him on the couch to watch TV together. The unintentional (and intentional) sharing of clothing. Of deodorant, and cologne. Sharing beds, and lips, and smiles, and bodies. Olli feels almost free, in a way.

The first couple weeks are wonderful, but it only takes one moment to plant a seed of doubt in his mind.

He walks into the flat one evening to witness Richard riding Schneider on the couch, both sets of eyes snapping onto him like he were an intruder. They falter, Richard sits and laughs, apologizing, Schneider hiding his face in Richard’s blonde dreads. Richard has his back to Schneider, facing the door so Olli can see—well, everything. He averts his gaze, blood rushing up into his face. He doesn’t say anything. He escapes into his bedroom, and wonders why that felt so weird. Like he wasn’t meant to see it, or that they didn’t _want_ him to. But why? They’ve had sex, the three of them, multiple times now. So many nights spent sleeping together in a tangle of bodies, waking up with wood that was promptly taken care of—that became normal, commonplace. Sex isn’t an issue between them. Or, rather, it shouldn’t be.

He lays there on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, lamely tossing a ball around in his hands. For twenty minutes he wonders about this, hearing them continue beyond the walls. He wonders if he truly is a third-wheel after all. The friend who is welcome to visit, but not allowed to unpack. Is that what this is? A glimpse into happiness, but barred from entry? Here he thought that something special was brewing. But they already have something special, don’t they?

Man, he really let the spur of the moment—all of those moments—get to his head. So what if they had sex? So what if Schneider opened up to him, more than he typically does, showing him that gentle, gelatinous interior past that hard shell? So what if Richard has no qualms with pulling Olli into his lap, with kissing him whenever he saw fit, with feeling him up and promptly initiating sex of various sorts? None of it really matters when it comes to what Olli really wants: inclusion with no regret or reluctance from the other side. A sense of love and affection that isn’t trailed by strings of doubt and insecurity. Olli thrusts the ball at the wall opposite of him. It ricochets back, and hits him on the chest—hard. He bats it away indignantly, turning onto his side, facing the wall. Well, at least he doesn’t have to listen to Richard moaning his head off anymore. It seems they finished.

Just as he gets comfortable for an impromptu nap, an escape from his stupid thoughts, he hears the door crack. Footsteps. A pause. Then the bed dips behind him.

“Hey, Olli,” Richard speaks softly. “Sorry, uh… It was bad timing.”

A hand reaches out to rest on his bicep. He’s wearing a tank top, so he’s touching skin. Olli stills himself. He wants to return the affection, but he also wants to hide. He doesn’t do or say anything. Richard rubs his hand up and down. There are callouses on his fingers from playing guitar, Olli can feel. He keeps his eyes closed. The bed shifts. Olli waits. A pair of lips rests over his skin, behind his ear. He feels Richard’s dreads rest against him.

“Can I join you?” Richard asks quietly, “I want to nap with you.”

Silently, Olli nods. Richard then climbs fully onto the bed, jostling it, and reaches out to pull Olli’s thin blanket over them both. Richard and his need to be under a blanket… Olli finds it kind of cute. This is why he has a thousand on _his_ bed. Olli only needs one.

Exhaling heavily, Richard wraps one muscular arm around Olli’s thin midsection, scooting up close behind him, aligning himself with that long back. He nuzzles into him. There’s that excessive affection again. Olli soaks it up. He’d been thirsting for it all day, having spent the day rehearsing with The Inchtabokatables—sitting around waiting for some sense of accomplishment sucks infinitely more when you know what you’re missing at home. And now that he has it, it comes with a tinge of guilt. Like now he’s taking Richard from Schneider, after all. Again, stupid thoughts. He sighs, without realizing. It must have come out more forced and tense, noticeably so.

“Mmm, something wrong?” Richard murmurs. His voice is heavy with blatant exhaustion. Olli wants to ask about his day. He wants to focus on _Richard_ , rather than make it about himself. But he feels unusually mute right now. He makes a low, dismissive sound in his throat. Richard hums knowingly. He squeezes his arm around his lean stomach and says softly, “Alright. That’s Olli-talk for ‘not now’. Got it. I’ll ask later.”

That’s a relief. They both fall silent, and he feels Richard go limp behind him. The weight and warmth of him is quite nice.

Half an hour later, Olli, satisfied with cuddling and clearer thoughts, rises from the bed, slipping out from Richard’s lax embrace as carefully as he can manage. Richard stirs with a grunt, pawing at Olli’s arm, but doesn’t do much else. He curls into Olli’s pillows and goes back to napping. Olli gets up from the bed, draws his blanket tighter around the other man, and then slips out of the bedroom, hands in the pockets of his shorts.

In their cramped living room area, he finds Schneider sprawled out on the couch swarmed in blankets. He’s reading, bending the paperback behind itself, holding it in two broad hands. His hair is wild around his face, a wavy mane of golden brown. He glances up, handsome blue eyes peeking beyond those long locks. A faint smile pulls at his thin lips.

“Somehow, I imagine the conversation turned into Richard sleeping,” Schneider says, training his gaze back on his book. Olli drops into the beat up chair to the left of the couch, facing the coffee table. He crosses his arms. Silent, he’s not sure what to say. Maybe he’s still feeling a bit off, after all. Schneider looks at him again.

“Sorry if we took you by surprise. You came home sooner than expected.”

“It’s okay,” Olli mumbles, shrugging one skinny shoulder, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Oh, uh… Well, it wasn’t an interruption. You ran away before we could invite you.”

Olli huffs a dry laugh.

“You seemed about done, anyways.”

A heavy moment of silence hangs over them. Schneider is still watching him; Olli can see it in his peripheral vision. He lingers here, sitting in this chair, arms crossed, eyes downcast to the cluttered coffee table, and wonders what he even wants to do now. After hours of rehearsal and plucking at a bass guitar in an unimaginative manner inherit to The Inchtabokatables, the last thing he wants to do is think about music, or work on his own pieces. Maybe he’ll just sit and watch TV. He’s not in the mood to go out again, especially now that an almost subconscious desire to be held and comforted tugs at the back of his mind. Maybe it’ll happen. But he won’t push for it. Just ride the wave as it comes, he supposes, standing from where he sat. Schneider peels his gaze away from the younger man and refocuses on his book—Olli casts him a brief glance as he paces around the living room and into the kitchen.

He doesn’t expect Schneider to understand subtones. He’s kind of dense, honestly. In the kindest, most adorable way you can be. Olli expects Richard to read his moods. So, he supposes he’ll just be sulking some more until Richard awakens. Knowing himself, it would be hard to tell when he’s not his usual quiet self, anyways. Sulking Olli isn’t much different from sober Olli. But he really shouldn’t _expect_ them to see he’s bothered and ask him what’s wrong. It’s up to him to talk about it. That’s the issue. He opens the fridge and grabs the carton of orange juice.

“Can you pour me a glass?” Schneider speaks up from the living room—obviously, watching him. Olli nods. He doesn’t feel like talking. If Schneider is staring at him, he’ll see it, and if he doesn’t, then he’ll get his answer in thirty seconds or so. Olli fills two glasses with orange juice, screws the cap back on, drops the half-empty carton back into the fridge, and takes both glasses into the living room. Schneider gives him a sweet, appreciative smile, sweeping his wavy bangs back, reaching out to take one from Olli’s broad fingers.

“Thanks,” Schneider says, proceeding to take a drink, eyes peering up at Olli. Olli clears his throat, taking his chair again.

“Yeah,” he says, and then does the same. It’s warm in here, so the cool sweetness of the drink is perfect. He downs half of it, sighing with satisfaction. Leaning over, he grabs the remote from the coffee table, turning on the TV. It’s on a sports channel. Perfect. He crosses his ankles, knees spread far, and reclines back into the borderline uncomfortable chair, balancing the glass of orange juice on the arm rest.

For ten minutes they sit like this in companionable silence. Olli feels himself sink deeper into a lulled state of mind, just watching sports—it helps him detach. He likes it. Don’t have to worry about anything, or anyone. Could just sit here and sip at his orange juice, pointedly ignoring the feelings of insecurity lingering in the lining of his stomach.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” Schneider speaks up soon after the ten minute mark, pulling Olli back into reality, earning a glance of tired eyes. Schneider is dog-earing his page, shutting the book, reaching out to drop it onto the table with a slap. He folds his hands together on his stomach and looks at Olli with a faint smile on his face.

“Richard was thinking we could go to the lake. If you don’t have plans. We don’t.”

“Sounds fun,” Olli replies, nodding, retraining his stare on the TV, “Let’s do it. I’ll bring a football.”

“Cool. I’ll let him know. Hey, uh—how are you feeling, by the way? How was rehearsal?”

That earns Olli’s reluctant gaze once more. He brings the glass of orange juice back to his mouth if only to mask his frown, taking a drink. He offers a faint hint of a sardonic smile, shrugging a shoulder.

“Could’ve gone better. Was bored for most of it. The band is fine, but I’m there to pluck some strings. Just wanted to come home. Time would’ve been better spent hanging out with you two.”

“Tired of being a performing monkey?” Schneider laughs, “I thought you wanted to be in a band.”

“It’s just temporary. And I’m not in the band. I’m just a fill-in.”

“Right, right. Well, at least they’re not assholes.”

“Not entirely.”

Schneider chuckles. Olli’s smile is a touch more genuine, as faint as it may be. Schneider is still laying haphazardly upon the couch, arms folded comfortably over himself, his feet propped up on the opposite armrest. His hair is framing his face prettily, falling upon the pillow he rests his head against. He’s quite handsome—but pretty, too, in his own way. Schneider returns the glance, searching in his gaze. Olli gestures to him with a raise of a hand, asking, “What about you?”

“Oh, you know. Wasting time, as per usual, with the trio of idiots.”

“It’s something to do. Aren’t they more established as a band? They have Aljoscha.”

“Just because they have more records out, a bigger fanbase, doesn’t necessarily mean they’re professional, or well-established. They just want to drink and mess around.”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

“Back in the East, sure. There was nothing else to do. Now, I just want to get shit done. Maybe I don’t understand how that band works. How those three work.”

“It’s fine if you don’t fit in as well. You’ll find a band that is the right one for you. I will, too, I guess.”

“Sure, but when?”

The floorboards creak. Both men glance over to see Richard trudge his way out of Olli’s bedroom, stretching with a loud groan and an exposure of his hairy belly. Olli smiles faintly. He’s always cute right after waking up—a sleepy Richard. Rubbing at his face, Richard sighs, pacing around where Olli sat to enter the kitchen. He leans over the sink, running the tap, and splashes water over his face.

“Do we have any Cokes left?” Richard calls sluggishly, wiping his face off on a hand towel. Schneider clicks his tongue.

“Open the fridge and you’ll find out, knucklehead,” Schneider replies, shaking his head, gazing into Olli’s eyes. Olli smiles faintly, amused.

As predicted, on that same evening, rain began to fall soon after they came home following a retrieval of takeout. The clouds were leering and ominous above them as they walked as a trio to the agreed upon restaurant a few blocks away. And now, it patters noisily upon the roof of the flat, against the window panes. They had curled up in the living room with full stomachs and freshly poured glasses of drink. Schneider played Super Mario World on the Super NES, and there were no signs of stopping. They wound up swapping, taking turns. Olli remained curled up on the chair, having now changed into his typical leisure attire (sweats and a light t-shirt), while Richard laid between Schneider’s legs, comfortably wrapped in blankets. It’s a nice evening to wrap up a stressful day.

And now the later hours have come, and a consensus had been made: turning in for the night. Without much of a word from Olli, he silently agreed with Richard, who had moaned about being sleepy and wanting to go to bed. Thus, the game system was turned off, as well as the TV, dishware was deposited in the sink to be dealt with later, and the three of them shuffled into the bathroom to take turns pissing, brushing teeth, and washing faces.

It’s incredibly domestic and a comfortable arrangement—it relaxes Olli just a bit, even if all they’re doing is getting ready for bed. It’s a familiarity he sought all day. But one thing remains: where will he be sleeping tonight? The fear of sleeping alone for the first time in a few weeks unsettles him. But, naturally, this is all in his own head; the other two all but dragged him into their shared bedroom, guiding him to Richard’s bed.

This had become commonplace, sleeping together, but somehow Olli convinced himself things had changed in the span of one day. Stupid spiraling thoughts. A faint smile lingers on his face as Richard pushes him towards the bed, while Schneider reaches out to take his hands and guide him on. Olli is flustered now, a heat built in his face. Thankfully, it’s too dark in here for them to take notice.

“Why are you acting all hesitant today, huh, Olli?” Richard huffs in a whisper from within the darkness, crawling onto the bed after him, “Looked like you were about to run back to your room. You crossed the point of no return, buddy. When I say we’re all snuggling together, we’re all snuggling together. Got it?”

Schneider chuckles from where he laid beside the wall, comfortably arranged in the corner against a mound of pillows. Olli drops onto his back beside him, silently blushing. Richard reaches out to push him on the thigh.

“Mr. Riedel, answer me, please,” he teases gently, crawling up to join the pair. He flops down beside Olli, facing him on his side. Eyes adjusted, Olli can dimly see him through the moonlight peering in beyond the closed blinds above the bed. Rain continues to softly drum all around them. Olli takes in a breath and nods.

“Yeah, of course. Whatever our princess wants.”

Schneider laughs aloud. He reaches out to pat Olli on the shoulder approvingly. Richard snorts, shaking his head. He rises up momentarily, grabbing the many layers of blankets to drag them up and over himself. He lets Olli choose his own, knowing the younger man always preferred a lighter layering. Olli is fine with just the top blanket, tucking the rest under himself. He looks at Schneider.

“Do you want to switch spots? If you want to be under the blankets… Easier to be next to Richard.”

Schneider has his head propped up in a hand, elbow against the bed. He smiles faintly at him. Leaning in, he kisses him sweetly on the brow. Olli stares at him when Schneider leans back again, a cool expression on his face.

“No. We want you in the middle.”

“Oh,” Olli replies, eloquently. Richard neatly tucks the one blanket around him, only to pat him on the chest. Schneider pulls the blankets up higher from underneath Olli, who lifts his hips to aid in the retrieval, and gets comfortable himself.

Well, this is a pleasant, unexpected outcome. Olli is a little overwhelmed in this position, especially when Richard scoots closer to him on his side, only to rest his cheek against his chest, his blonde dreads splayed out behind him. Schneider remains laying on his back against the pillows, but a hand curiously slinks over to take his, atop the blankets. Olli draws in a shuddering breath, warmed externally and internally. He closes his eyes. He listens to their breathing. Feels Richard’s chest expanding and deflating against his bicep. Schneider, holding his hand lightly, stroking a thumb along Olli’s finger. Olli, staring at the ceiling, wonders if he even deserves this anymore, after doubting them so much. He still feels like an outsider peering in, but at least he’s not unwelcome. He closes his eyes.  
  


* * *

In the morning, it begins as it has for the last two weeks. Olli awakens to find himself spooning Richard so closely, he’s partially covering him with his body; Richard is sleeping soundly underneath him, laying on his side, arms curled up close to himself. Olli can’t even remember if Richard had pulled him closer during the night, or they somehow wound up like this subconsciously. Richard is warm and soft, so he wouldn’t be surprised if his body had been drawn to the comfort of him while he slept. Meanwhile, Schneider has one arm thrown around Olli’s thin waist, and he can feel his puffing breaths against his back through his t-shirt. It’s warm in this arrangement, uncomfortably so. Olli is sweating, and his mouth is dry.

Blearily blinking, he sees only the tangle of sheets underneath them, Richard’s pale shoulder, and his mess of dreads. Olli stares at the vaccination scar on Richard’s shoulder while sleepily contemplating the worth of rising to take a piss and retrieve a drink of water. This is far too comfortable, and intimate an embrace to sever. And he loathes the thought of waking up the others when everyone seems so comfortable.

He manages to fall back asleep.

The next time he awakens, it’s to Richard shifting out carefully from his embrace. Olli watches him sit up, back curled heavily, head hung. Scratching sleepily at a shoulder, Richard pans his gaze over to the other two. He makes eye contact with Olli, and smiles softly. Surprising him, Richard plants an elbow on the bed, leans over, and kisses him on the brow.

“Morning,” he murmurs tiredly, voice hoarse. Olli looks up at him with a throbbing heart and a shy expression. Richard searches his face, smiling still, and leans in again—but this time, he pecks him on the mouth. Olli rests a hand on Richard’s arm, returning it chastely, lovingly. Richard nuzzles their foreheads together, and Olli’s insides constrict with affection. Then Richard lifts his head and peers past Olli to gauge Schneider’s state.

“Still out,” Richard huffs, meeting Olli’s gaze. He grins a little, saying, “Let’s go make breakfast. Make it a nice surprise.”

Olli nods. Thankfully, Schneider had shifted in his sleep, removing his arm from around Olli, so he can freely slip off the bed. Rising from the bed, Richard crosses the room and carefully, quietly pulls open the top drawer of his dresser to retrieve a fresh pair of briefs, slipping them on. After snatching a pair of sweatpants, he slinks out of the room, and Olli follows.

Staggering into the sweatpants along the way to the kitchen, Richard adjusts the elastic band around his waist with a snap and then opens the coffee maker. Checking the time on the oven, Olli is surprised that they got up this early. He approaches the window above the sink and pulls up the blinds, letting sun bathe across them both. He even cracks it open a bit—at least, as much as he can manage before it inevitably becomes jammed. It opens with a screech and crunch. Richard laughs.

“If he wasn’t awake a minute ago, he definitely is now,” he giggles, grabbing the coffee pot to fill it with water. Olli chuckles. He feels like having eggs, he decides, and turns to the fridge. Pulling the door open, he retrieves the carton, places it on the counter, as well as the milk. He retrieves an apple for himself, and an orange for Schneider because he knows he enjoys them in the morning.

For a moment, it’s serene. The sunlight peering into the kitchen falls prettily across Richard’s naked back. Olli stares, wanting to reach out and touch. Richard flips his dreads back, turning to the cabinet to retrieve three mugs. Averting his gaze, Olli breaks a few eggs—enough to share—into the pan, exhaling heavily. Richard is silent beside him, and so Olli doesn’t anticipate it when a hand suddenly rests on his back through his sleep shirt, rubbing back and forth. Olli peeks at Richard. He’s stepping closer, until his chest meets Olli’s bicep. He tilts his head back to meet his gaze clearly. Olli searches in his pretty green eyes. The coffee maker bubbles noisily behind them, puttering to life. It smells rich and aromatic. Richard has that stern, determined expression on his face, the look that says a tiresome conversation may occur. Olli steels himself. Richard speaks quietly, raking his nails over Olli’s shoulder blades in a pleasant manner that sends a shudder up his back.

“What’s up? Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you? You’ve seemed off since yesterday… Was it because you walked in on us fucking?”

Silently, Olli averts his gaze and refocuses on the sizzling eggs. He prefers his scrambled. He grabs the milk, uncaps it, and pours just a bit into the yellowing yolk. He begins pushing it around, mixing in the milk, one broad hand gripping the handle of the pan. He shrugs weakly. It takes a minute to gather his thoughts, a minute to rid of the cage around his voice.

“Yes.”

Richard contemplates this a moment, and presses gently, “Why?”

Again, Olli stalls by poking around the cooking egg. He shrugs a shoulder. His throat is tight, and he quickly calculates how risky it is stating the truth. What if it only pushed Richard away, showing himself to be “fragile”, to be insecure? He exhales lowly, shrugging his shoulder again.

“Just a reminder that… You two have something special,” he mumbles, an uncomfortable heat rising to his face. It sounds pathetic to him, and he hasn’t even gotten to the truly embarrassing part. He presses his lips, staring, unseeing, at the solidifying egg. He owes Richard the full truth. Richard has been patient with him, understanding of him.

“And… And I’m not a part of it,” he says, quietly, “I don’t want to… Force myself into what you two had originally. I don’t want to sully what’s already good.”

“Oh, no, no, not at all, Olli,” Richard protests, aghast, wrapping his arm around Olli’s shoulders, pulling him in closer to his chest. Awkwardly, Olli lets himself be squeezed, head ducked, continuing to wield the spatula. His lips twist into a repressed, ill-hidden smile, derived mostly from nerves. Richard pulls away, earning a reluctant glance from Olli. Searching in his gaze, Richard looks at him sternly, speaking firmly.

“It’s not like that at all. You’re not forcing yourself into it. We invited you, remember? Well, that’s because, believe it or not, we’re _both_ into you.”

He pauses, sighing, averting his gaze from Olli to instead stare at the cooking eggs, recollecting his thoughts. Olli does the same. They’re done now, actually. He lifts the pan, scrapes the cooked egg onto a waiting plate. Meanwhile, Richard goes on, keeping one hand on Olli’s back.

“’Special’ isn’t quite the right word, either, you know. I’m not into him romantically,” he says, amusement in his voice, “Emotionally, sure. I care about him. I care about you. But we just fuck, that’s all. What you walked into yesterday was just that: us being horny fuckers. In fact, we both agreed it isn’t as good if you’re not there. It’s still good but… You bring a lot to it. So… Yeah. Don’t worry about it."

He reaches up to ruffle Olli’s hair, as short as it may be. Olli ducks his head, huffing a laugh, blushing. He nods a little. Richard pats him on the back and then promptly grabs the wrapped bag of bread from the counter. Retrieving a bread knife from the drawer, he begins cutting slices for their jam. But then he stops, humming contemplatively, and sets the bread and the accompanying tool down.

“Take care of the bread, will you? I’m going to get Schneider up. He’ll end up sleeping right through breakfast at this rate.”

Before even waiting for a response, off Richard goes, pacing hurriedly through the small living room, soon to disappear into the bedroom. Olli silently takes the knife and finishes Richard’s task. Richard made a horrid cut of the last one. It’s jagged and uneven. How could he fail even at this? Olli, quietly amused, finishes slicing the bread, putting away the knife. He grabs their respective jars of jam from the fridge. Schneider, apricot. Richard, blackberry. And himself, strawberry, of course. Setting all three on the counter, he gets to work slathering the spread onto each slice. They each get two. Olli contemplates frying some potatoes on a skillet to go with this, but decides it would take way too long. Oh—he needs to peel Schneider’s orange and get that on a plate. Usually, he doesn’t care and leaves it for Schneider to deal with, but he wants to keep his hands busy.

By the time he moves all of the plates onto the table, the other two still haven’t emerged. He just hears the low murmur of their voices. Pausing, Olli briefly worries what Richard is talking to him about. Ugh, God. Leave it up to Richard to immediately report on Olli’s insecurities. Well, whatever. At least he won’t have to have a repeat conversation with Schneider. That would be painfully awkward. It probably wouldn’t even happen. Schneider isn’t the type of guy to deal with _emotional conflict_. He’s much too serious for that.

Olli returns to the kitchen to pour himself a mug of coffee. Just as he finishes balancing it with creamer and sugar, he hears the door crack, and footsteps. He looks over, sees Richard proudly reentering the kitchen area with a smile. He flips his dreads back and nudges past Olli’s motionless form to grab his own mug. He begins pouring himself coffee. Nervous, Olli, heart jittery, carries his own over to their small, shitty dining table. Schneider is surveying the display on the table, eyes heavy and sleepy. Joined by his wild mane of curls, it’s cute.

“Get me a mug, too, Scholle,” he calls, taking a seat—at the spot where his peeled and sliced orange sits, waiting for him patiently. Olli claims the spot to his left.

“Morning, Schneider,” he murmurs, daring to peek at him. Schneider’s blue eyes flick up to meet his. They’re slightly tinted with red, a sign of his recent awakening. He gives him a smile.

“Morning,” he huffs in a quiet laugh, only to add on with a glance across the surface before them, “I want every morning to be like this. Waking up to a breakfast put together by our sweet Olli.”

Richard laughs from the kitchen, while Olli makes a slight face at Schneider. Schneider chuckles. He reaches out to nudge Olli on the bicep, and then squeezes him there.

As time passes, so does Olli’s uncertainty, insecurity. Sharing breakfast with these two idiots has always been light-hearted and fun. It’s only natural that by the time they’re clearing the dishes from the table, Olli has a faint smile on his face. Standing at the sink that is seldom ever empty, Olli rinses his coffee mug, sets it on the rack, and hears the footfalls of his two roommates, who had curiously grown silent after some hushed whispers from the kitchen table. Olli turns to see them both approaching. The calm smile on Schneider’s face, the eager grin on Richard’s is a little concerning, but the way both men reach out to take his hands quells his burst of nervousness. Soon, he’s led out of the kitchen, and into the bathroom.

Within the confines of these four walls—among the overflowing basket of used towels and laundry, the sink that desperately needs to be wiped down, and the floor covering that’s been steadily peeling off around the bathtub—the shirt he slept in is drawn from his back and up over his head. He lets those same hands work down his sleep pants, and he coyly, obediently steps out of them. Two hands are gripping his slim waist. He’s face to face with Schneider, and Richard is resting his forehead to his back. Needless to say, he’s slightly out of his depth. Schneider offers him a kind, faint smile and turns to the shower. He starts it up with a hiss of rushing water. Richard brings his hands around to rest them on Olli’s flat stomach, embracing him from behind now. Olli doesn’t know what to do, or say.

Like an animal vulnerable to the whims of its leader, Olli is herded into the shower, after the other two undress, guiding him by his hands. The shower curtain is closed after him. The water is blissfully hot. Standing between Schneider and Richard, he finds himself predictably mute, and shy. He crosses his arms, tucking his hands under his armpits, and wordlessly watches Schneider pass one of their bottles of body wash over to Richard’s waiting hand. Olli hears the pop of the cap. He glances behind himself to see Richard squeezing a dollop into his palm. And then, a replication of the sound in front of him. Schneider, too, is doing the same. Uh, oh. He knows where this is going. Relenting, he uncrosses his arms, baring himself.

Schneider’s broad hands end up on his chest, foremost. Chin tucked bashfully, Olli observes him working the body wash into his pecs, across hair flattened by water, passing over his nipples, until the suds become great and cascade down his long torso. Richard’s bold hands begin rubbing the wash onto his back, in a broad, circling motions. Olli remains tense, but it does feel quite good. He keeps his eyes downcast, far too embarrassed to meet Schneider’s gaze.

The water is hot, steaming, pleasant. There’s barely enough room in here for the three of them. The strong scent of the body wash embraces Olli’s sense of smell. When he does manage to summon the courage to peek up, he finds Schneider with the faintest hint of a smile on his face, his eyes downcast to his work, the long, wavy mane of his hair weighted by water. His body is fuller than it used to be. More muscular. Fattened by the indulgent food now accessible to them. The same could be said for Richard.

That being said, Schneider truly is beautiful for a man. Olli has to stop himself from staring at the modest curls of hair at his groin, the delicate, softness of his shaft. The lack of apparent arousal, both from himself and Schneider, makes him feel more at ease. This is relaxing, almost, if not for Olli’s undeniable state of shyness. It’s, dare he say, domestic.

But, as always, that moment of serenity is interrupted. Richard’s explorative hands sweep down to run the thick suds over Olli’s backside, and, as predicted, he can’t stop himself from groping him there. Olli arches forward just slightly, turning his head to throw the elder man an embarrassed frown. Richard grins up at him and leans in to kiss him on one wet, pinkened shoulder.

“I have to be thorough, Olli!” he insists, teasing, the green of his irises swimming with a questionable mixture of mischief and fondness. Olli barely withholds the urge to lurch forward into Schneider when bold, soapy fingers slip in-between his asscheeks and pass over a part of him that he _surely_ could deal with himself. He sighs. Schneider, meanwhile, steps closer, and lets Olli lean into him. Olli is grateful he could sense his need for an anchor, though how he could figure that out is beyond him. Maybe he is that open about his emotions, after all, no matter how subtle and controlled he thinks he’s being.

He ducks his head to hide his face in Schneider’s shoulder, leaning over to do so. Those broad hands on his front calmly slide down past his lower belly, crossing the trail of hair which met his belly button, to work the lingering suds into his trimmed pubic hair. Those calm fingers curl around his soft shaft, enveloping him in the warm suds of the body wash. Olli shudders. From both sides, there is no mercy. And then he hears a soft laugh from Richard, close to his ear now, and the undeniable sound of lips kissing. The hum of Schneider’s deep voice, a rumbling vibration.

Oh, God. They’re kissing over his shoulder. Olli doesn’t move. He only listens, allowing it to continue. The heat that traverses through his belly is intense, and the fact that Schneider still has his fingers curled lazily around his dick flusters him further, worried he could _feel_ that rise in his arousal. They know exactly what they’re doing.

Richard must have told him, it occurs to Olli. He told Schneider, and now they’re buttering him up for a session of reaffirmation, of reassurance. He’s not sure if he should be embarrassed at this point, or relieved. Both. A mixture of both sounds about right.

Drying off together after twenty minutes or so of washing each other is sickeningly intimate to Olli. Richard is teasing him, ruffling his wet hair, pinching at his butt while Olli dried off. Though, at this point, Olli is so accustomed to it that all Richard garners is a flinch and a weak smack of Olli’s towel against his stomach. Schneider is first to finish drying, slipping out of the bathroom with merely a glance towards the other two. Olli slinks out after him, covering himself with his towel, and Richard is hot on his heels, naturally. The three of them regroup in Richard’s and Schneider’s shared bedroom. Schneider is already brushing his hair, completely naked and lacking the dignity of his towel. Olli shamelessly eyes up his muscular ass while he rakes his fingernails through his own short hair, towel now fastened around his slim waist.

But it doesn’t last long. Richard strips it off of him in one merciless yank, and tosses it elsewhere. Olli’s hands reflexively jerk down to conceal himself, but then allows them to fall to his sides instead, an attempt to appear unbothered. He does give Richard an unamused, sarcastic squint of his eyes though, and a pout of his mouth. Richard chuckles. He’s naked himself. Unashamed in their equal nudity, he steps closer to draw Olli into a tender embrace. Olli leans into it, seeking that soft warmth of his body. The initial bashfulness he had when they first began this undefined relationship-thing has definitely lessened, but not by that much. Just enough to give him the courage to _show_ his enthusiasm. He isn’t that embarrassed to lean into Richard’s arms, to rest his hands on his hips in return.

“Stop pampering yourself and get over here,” Richard says, directed towards Schneider. The clatter of a plastic brush being placed upon a surface, and then footsteps. Hot hands trail up Olli’s long back, and a body presses to his. Schneider draws his arms around them both. Richard laughs, and Olli smiles secretively.

“Olli sandwich!” Richard announces, a grin in his voice. Olli laughs, shaking between them. Schneider’s body is warm against his back, and he certainly can feel his awakening erection against him. It seems they already have plans. It becomes blaringly obvious when the other two detach, take his hands again as they did in the bathroom, and pull him to the bed.

Face twisted into an embarrassed frown, cheeks fiery with a blush, Olli lets himself be guided onto the wide bed and across the rumpled covers, while the other two exchange grins and laugh. Olli is pushed down. He lands on his side, and then two sets of hands manhandle him. He’s pushed onto his back, his long, lithe body on display. All he can do is hide behind his arm, slung over his face. He paws for a blanket to maintain his modesty, but instead, both wrists are claimed and subsequently pinned to the bed on either side of his head. Red-faced, he looks between his grinning lovers and sighs in a bursting exhale.

“You two are so shameless,” he deadpans, though it’s followed by a light grin. Schneider chuckles, and Richard shifts closer to him on his side, smiling. Schneider keeps some distance, allowing Olli breathing room, but Richard does no such thing: he aligns his front to Olli’s side. His half-hard dick pokes him in the thigh. Olli’s stomach flips, and can’t help but jerk his gaze over to Richard’s, wide-eyed. Richard grins at him, green eyes searching, and leans in to kiss him without prompt. Olli reflexively tries to bring his hand up to touch him, but instead he’s met with the forceful restraint of Schneider’s strong grip. Olli makes a shy noise against Richard’s mouth, flustered, without meaning to. Richard shifts just that much closer to deepen the kiss. The auditory result of their overlapping mouths is unbearably embarrassing in the silence of the bedroom—usually they put on music to fuck to, but this was a bit spontaneous.

Contributing to the mounting weight of his flustered state, he feels delicate lips whisper over the curled fingers of his restrained hand. Schneider, kissing his knuckles gently. Olli freezes mid-kiss with Richard, stunned by that feeling. Richard tracing the seam of his lips with his tongue easily regains his focus. Olli angles his head to allow the deepening of the kiss, until their lips are pressed firmly together and their tongues can meet in a shy connection that renders Olli breathless and incredibly aroused. Richard’s puffing exhales through his nose are heavy, brushing across Olli’s face as their kiss continued. Schneider has moved onto mouthing over Olli’s inner forearm, which tickles and has him twisting his shoulder and clenching his arm, a muffled noise spoken into Richard’s mouth.

Schneider is now nipping his way to his inner elbow, and soon enough, his lips are against Olli’s shoulder, his jawline, his cheek. He murmurs “scoot over” to Richard, who gives a departing purse of his mouth to Olli’s, and withdraws. Panting hard, Olli sags back into the bed, blearily turns to look at Schneider. Richard, breathing heavily himself, ducks down to tuck his face into the crevice of Olli’s neck and shoulder. He nuzzles into him, while Schneider leans in, angling his head to properly kiss Olli. Olli had no time to regain his breath. Panting into it, Olli barely has the coherency to reciprocate. Schneider’s other hand raises to cradle his head in his broad palm, fingers outstretched into his hair, thumb on his cheek.

Dizzy by breathlessness and arousal, Olli can only kiss him for a minute before reluctantly turning his head out of it, gasping for air, chest heaving. Both men watch him with grins. Olli stares back, dazed himself.

“What are you thinking?” Richard murmurs, and at first Olli believes it’s an inquiry directed towards him, but then Richard pries his gaze from Olli’s to meet Schneider’s. Turning his head, Olli stares at the eldest and waits for an expected answer. Schneider glances between them both.

“I’m thinking we could do whatever Olli wants to do,” he says, stroking his thumb back and forth over Olli’s wrist. “What do you want to do, Olli? If you’re not interested in fucking, then we can easily just cuddle. Or… Not even that, I suppose. Whatever you want.”

“Did—did you both want to?” Olli says, barely above a whisper, looking between their faces nervously. Schneider glances towards Richard, Olli following his gaze. Richard, smiling, searches in his eyes, speaking with a confidence, unashamed and certain.

“We do. We wanted to get it through your thick skull that you’re just as important to this, uh… Three-way relationship, I guess. It’s not ‘Richard and Schneider, and sometimes Olli.’ It’s Richard and Schneider and Olli. Got it?”

Olli, surprised, feels a flattered heat rise to his face.

“I—Okay,” he stammers, unsure what to say here. He shuts his mouth, sizzling. Grinning now, Richard glances up towards Schneider, and says, “You should ride him, this time. I’ll suck him off while you get yourself ready. What do you think?”

Schneider moves to stand from the bed, replying dryly with a faint smile on his face, “Oh, so gracious of you to offer up my ass, Scholle.”

“Well, you’re the one getting up to grab the lube, so it seems you’re into it, too, you whiner!”

Smiling to himself, Olli watches Schneider retrieve said bottle from the cluttered table beside his bed, until he’s promptly distracted by wandering hands and worshipful lips. With Richard’s head lowered, all Olli sees is his closed eyes, his fan of eyelashes, the purse of his mouth, and a curtain of blonde dreads. His hands are gentle on him, an exploration across skin that had been virginal to this manner of touch only a couple weeks ago. As inexperienced as he is, every passing caress of Richard’s palms and fingers are electrifying. The light drag of his bared fingernails exhilarating. Olli is nearly vibrating by the time Richard has descended to kissing rather eagerly, sloppily over the flat expanse of his lean stomach. Leaving flushed marks of his doing, glistening with the sheen of his saliva. It hurts, these biting kisses, and Olli knows that those dark, territorial bruises will show in an hour’s time. Olli loves it. As embarrassing as it could be, seeing himself in the mirror and finding his lovers in his skin leaves him with a grin and fluttering appreciation in his belly.

A moan rises out of him, hushed and withdrawn, when Richard fits his hands between his lean thighs, forces them apart, only to bite marks onto the inside of them. Richard wraps his arms around his legs, keeping them spread in a manner that flusters the hell out of Olli. He drapes his forearm over his face, peeking just past to observe. Richard mouths wetly over his inner thighs, moving closer and closer in, until his face is nestled into the base of his cock, lips planting sucking kisses across the skin just past his shaft, and then over his balls.

“Oh, God,” Olli shudders, a gasping exhale of shocked pleasure. He keeps his arm over his face, squeezing his eyes shut, unable to face it when Richard peeks up at him with satisfaction on his face. Schneider, meanwhile, has been kneeling low beside Richard, very obviously making use of the lube and the gift of being born with fingers. His unoccupied hand extends to sweep across Richard’s broad back. The way Richard tightens his arms around his legs and tugs him closer has Olli tensing up, a bizarre burst of arousal sparking in his gut. Well, apparently, he’s into being manhandled. Richard nuzzles his face into his cock—lips smiling against his shaft, nose tracing the rigid length of it, hot exhales ghosting along him in a transparent embrace.

“Suck him off already,” Schneider murmurs to Richard’s side. Olli peeks past his arm again, red-faced. His breath catches—Schneider reaches in with his free hand to gently grip the base of his cock and angle it up, drawing back the foreskin. He holds it in place while Richard dutifully opens his mouth and lowers his head to suck the exposed, dripping glans into his mouth. Holy shit. Olli’s hips quiver back into the bed, startled by the shock of sensation. Most distracting of all is the burst of arousal in his gut—Schneider guiding his cock into Richard’s mouth, insistently so? Jesus Christ. Suddenly, Olli feels weak.

Dropping his head back against the bed, Olli reaches a hand out to maintain another form of contact, resting it on Richard’s shoulder, sweeping it in to cradle the back of his neck. He can feel the muscles flex and tense with every motion of his head. Olli manages to reel in his sounds of pleasure, his hitching breaths and exhales the only auditory indication of his enjoyment. A slow back and forth, Richard works his mouth over him, maintaining a lighter suction, knowing Olli uncomfortably squirmed when he sucked too harshly. And it has Olli melting. Warmth seeps throughout him, reaching the edges of his mind. His body is thrumming, his head a fog of pleasure, of arousal, of simple enjoyment. Just as it’s beginning to pass the threshold of warm pleasure to electric, intensifying sensation, Schneider murmurs to Richard, and then Richard is slowly pulling off, one hand lightly gripping the base of his cock as he did so. Olli goes lax against the bed, taking in a deep, shuddering breath.

“Did—did we want to put music on?” he asks meekly, rising up onto his elbows. Richard grins, while Schneider busies himself with opening a condom and reaching out, nudging past Richard to do so, to slip it onto Olli’s flushed cock.

“Not this time,” Richard teases, unraveling his arms from around Olli’s legs, patting him on his thighs, “We agreed we want to hear you lose your mind while Schneider fucks you.”

“Come on!” Olli complains weakly, laughing, “This is embarrassing enough for me!”

Chuckling, Schneider contributes nothing, though he casts a sly grin towards Richard. Richard wraps his hands around Olli’s hips, squeezing, “Well, get used to it, Olli. Can’t always rely on the comfort of hiding from us.”

“It—it’s not hiding.”

“And it’s not embarrassing. It’s hot. So, ha. Suck it up.”

He leans in to plant a loud, teasing kiss to Olli’s stomach before rising, a smug expression on his face. Olli is so out of his depth here, he finds himself speechless, uncertain of what to say. Moving out of the way, flipping his dreads back over his shoulders, Richard gives Schneider room. Taking his place, Schneider plants a hand beside Olli, leaning into it while he searched Olli’s face, offering him a faint smile. He had a generous glob of lube in his palm. Tense, Olli watches as he stroked it thoroughly over his shaft. Schneider is more straight-forward than Richard is, by far. He doesn’t spend long teasing him, like Richard would have.

In a move to contest Richard, Schneider ducks his head to begin sucking hickies into Olli’s thighs and hips—biting hard enough it borders on too much. Wincing slightly, Olli just watches with a shy little smile, almost amused. The marks left behind from their last evening together had just begun to fade, and now he’s going to be plastered even more with them. These two idiots are so indulgent.

But Schneider doesn’t waste time on it. He leaves enough to claim his own spots of Olli, and then gets up to climb over him. Olli, wide-eyed, brings his hands up reflexively to let them hover, unsure where to lend a hand, though Schneider, evidently, doesn’t need it. He rests down on his knees, raising himself enough to grip Olli’s slickened cock and angle it upwards.

A shudder rolls up Olli’s back, feeling him press the head to himself. He settles his hands on Schneider’s thighs, fingers outstretched. Schneider focuses on breathing—audible enough to Olli, he takes notice of it. A long, calm exhale out, followed by an equally deep inhale. Watching his face, Olli can’t help but wonder how it must feel. He’s never been on the receiving end before. The thought intimidates him.

But any thought he may have had is immediately discarded—Schneider finally begins easing down on him, slow and careful. Richard, meanwhile, has taken to stroking his hands up and down across Olli’s shins, his thighs, only to raise and cradle Schneider’s back. The amount of distractions pulling at him from opposite ends is overwhelming, to say the least. Just as Schneider carefully settles in his lap, hands cupping around Olli’s rib cage, Richard comes up behind him, wraps his arms around his torso, and kisses him behind the ear. Both men watch Olli’s face. Olli has to press his hand over his eyes, heaving a sigh. They both laugh, Richard more merrily than Schneider.

“Hey, no cheating!” Richard remarks, bringing a hand down from Schneider’s stomach to pat Olli on the thigh, “Let me see your face!”

“Embarrassing, Scholle…” That comes out more like a whine than he meant to. Schneider chuckles. Olli can feel it when he does. Olli does reveal his face, lifting his hand, though the shield of his hand becomes a form of retaliation: he flips Richard off, pointedly so. Richard sticks his tongue out at him, and then laughs. He turns to Schneider, scooting up closer behind him, to flatten himself to his back. He presses his face into Schneider’s long hair.

“I can’t really move like this,” Schneider sighs, allowing him the embrace. Richard snorts.

“We both know you won’t be moving that soon. That stick up your ass has to accommodate this new addition.”

“Funny. I’m rolling with laughter.”

“Thanks, I know, I’m funny,” Richard remarks, patting him on the stomach. He detaches before Schneider could pry him off. He gives Schneider a departing kiss to his cheekbone, and then moves to sit beside Olli. Oh, no—Olli realizes that Schneider being the victim of Richard’s affection saved him from receiving that treatment.

Dropping onto his side next to Olli, Richard reaches out to cradle his cheek, gently turning his head for him to meet his gaze. Olli looks at him, warily. Letting his arm rest across Olli’s chest, Richard leans in to kiss him. Oh, this is easy. Olli can close his eyes, then. He does so, returning it whole-heartedly.

It only becomes difficult when Schneider shifts into a comfortable position on his lap, and raises himself up, gradually. He sinks back down. Olli tenses up, hand locking up from where it found its place around Richard’s arm. Richard kisses softly at his momentarily unresponsive lips, smiling into it. Olli is frozen, completely absorbed by the sensations occurring at a place much more southern than his mouth.

The startling, unfamiliar silence of the bedroom only leaves room for more unashamedly loud, embarrassing sounds: the creak of the bed, the heavier breathing, the blatant glide of lube and friction, the collision of skin—all typically encumbered by the music they played. Now, he can hear Schneider’s withheld moaning, reduced to quieted sounds in his throat. The harsh, bursting inhales and exhales of exertion from his open mouth. Breaking the kiss with Richard, Olli turns his head to stare at this visual of Schneider riding him. The clenching of working muscles, the struggle to move gracefully, impressively. But Schneider, try as he might, is anything but graceful. He’s clumsy, he’s awkward, and it shows even now. With a face pinched in focus, Schneider seems much more focused on the effectiveness and manner of which he rides him, rather than the physical enjoyment he should be receiving from the act.

Reaching out, Olli clutches at Schneider’s hips, and decides he can help. He begins cautiously rocking up into it as Schneider comes down; he gets an immediate reaction. Schneider’s eyes widen, and his mouth snaps shut, jaw clenching. He widens his stance, letting his knees slide apart. He bears more weight down on Olli. It makes it harder to thrust. Brow knitting, Olli cups his broad hands underneath Schneider’s muscular thighs, attempts to support him. Schneider huffs.

“On your feet?” Richard suggests from Olli’s right, reaching out to pat Schneider on the knee. Schneider looks vaguely annoyed.

“I know,” he mutters. That tone of voice makes Olli hesitate.

“If you’re not enjoying this, we can stop,” he says, quietly. “It’s not fun for me if it’s not fun for you.”

“It’s fine,” Richard says, first to Olli, then to Schneider. “Just relax, Schneider. No one is rating your performance. Just ride his damn dick in a way that feels good. You really don’t have to work so hard to impress us.”

“If it’s so easy for you, why don’t you do it, then?” Schneider snaps, getting off Olli with a sharp gesture of his hand, careful to avoid jostling the youngest, “You’re the one who loves dick so much! So show me, oh so kindly, how you do it, the professional!”

“You guys…” Olli sighs, moving to sit up again, though a hand stops him, pressed to his chest. Richard, in an impressive sign of maturity and self-control, doesn’t retaliate childishly. Instead, he scowls at Schneider and says with thinly veiled annoyance, “Schneider, how about some self-awareness, huh? Do you want Olli to take over? If you don’t want to be on top, just say so. If you’re not confident with riding him, fine, but don’t throw a fit. It’s killing the fucking mood.”

Schneider runs his hands down over his face, sighing. He meets Richard’s gaze, saying in a tone more controlled, though his face still shows irritation, “Sorry. I was embarrassed. You pointing it out made it worse.”

“I wasn’t pointing it out. I was offering a suggestion. Look—I can take over if you don’t want to.”

Maybe if he were more experienced, and knew when to just call it quits and try another time, Olli might’ve said something, but—he’s still incredibly hard, Schneider is bottoming to him ( _Schneider!_ ), and he just wants it to work out. So, he says nothing, watching nervously while the other two glared each other down. Schneider huffs, again.

“No. I got it.”

“I really wasn’t trying to embarrass you, Schneider. I wanted to help. I can just shut up if you want me to,” Richard says quietly, which surprises Olli—Richard is the type to accept a win when it’s given to him. It seems he really does want this to go smoothly. Schneider relaxes a little. He shakes his head.

“You don’t have to. It’s just…”

He trails off. A weak, knowing smile comes to Richard’s face, Olli sees. He expects Richard to reach out and touch him, but he doesn’t.

“I get it. You haven’t bottomed to Olli yet. It’s new.”

Olli feels like there’s more to that, but it’s unspoken to him. Schneider says nothing, at first. He sits there, hesitating, before he sighs, meets Olli’s uncertain gaze, and says, “Sorry, Olli. I do want to do this with you, alright? Of course I do. It’s just—How do you want me?”

Richard turns to regard Olli as well, waiting for an answer. Feeling a bit like an idiot, Olli lays there with his hands folded over his stomach, wondering why he’s suddenly being asked this. They seem just happy with taking control, and he’s fine with that. Less for him to deal with. But maybe that can’t be the case every time. He needs to be more engaging. He needs to give his input. He opens his mouth, closes it, looking lost. Richard laughs.

“I would do doggy style,” he offers, dropping back onto his elbow beside Olli, stretching out his legs comfortably, “Easiest for both of you. Less embarrassing, too, since you both are cute and get so shy while fucking, and getting fucked. But, hey—that’s only a suggestion.”

While that comment from Richard does bring a heat to his face, as it is a true statement, Olli likes the sound of that. If it alleviates their discomfort, especially Schneider’s, even a little bit, it’ll do. He sits up, nodding. Schneider offers him a weak, apologetic smile. Olli still feels unsatisfied with the resolution. Schneider doesn’t look as relaxed anymore. He reaches out to place his hand on Schneider’s thigh, scooting closer as he asks, “I never know if I’m allowed to just go and do it, so I’ll ask. Can—can I kiss you?”

Schneider looks surprised, and then almost bashful. He laughs lowly, nodding.

“You don’t have to ask, Olli. But I appreciate that.”

That’s a relief. Olli, emboldened, leans in, angling his head. A broad hand rests on the side of his face, thumb on his cheek. That sends a heat piercing through his body. Such a simple touch means so much, especially from Schneider. Connecting their mouths is oddly thrilling. Never before has Olli been the one to initiate kissing Schneider—Schneider is the one who crosses distance to share one with him. It’s nice. The warmth, the softness of his lips. They kiss cautiously, though the shyness is mostly from Olli’s end. He breaks away, maybe prematurely, but he’s nervous. Schneider grins at him, and it lights up his eyes. Olli is definitely reassured by that. He smiles in return. Schneider gently grips him by the face, fingers pressing to his cheeks, and pulls him in for a quick, firmly placed kiss. A loud smack of their lips fills the room. Olli snorts, amused. Richard chuckles from where he lays.

A smile is on Schneider’s face when he pulls away, turns, and arranges himself on his hands and knees. Olli immediately follows, saddling up behind him, one hand cradling his hip. Richard shifts, moving into a suitable position to watch fully without interfering. Olli finds he doesn’t mind it, being watched, being in this position. He supposes the ice had broken for him, seeing such a vulnerable side of Schneider. He can take control. It’s obvious Schneider isn’t very comfortable leading when he’s bottoming. Olli just wants him to be content, so he’ll do whatever it takes.

He pauses when something is pressed to his wrist. Richard is holding out the lube, giving him a knowing little smirk. Taking it, Olli does as instructed: he squeezes a modest droplet of lube into his hand, strokes it over his shaft, across the glistening latex of the condom. Richard takes it back. Glancing up, Olli sees Schneider resting low on his elbows, head ducked, back curled. Richard was certainly right; it’s undeniable that being on the receiving end embarrasses the hell out of Schneider. It’s not a total mystery as to why—Olli always got the impression that Schneider dealt with self-acceptance issues.

But he can’t be bothered to scrutinize anything further: his hard dick is in his hand, slicked up and ready to push into another body—and not just any body. _Schneider._ That’s all the encouragement he needs. He shifts incrementally closer on his knees, anchoring Schneider closer with a firm, albeit gentle, pull around his hip. Schneider obediently inching back, legs aligned with Olli’s, is incredibly arousing, sending a thrill up his back. He really can’t believe that Schneider is on his knees for him, wanting this. Wanting to _please him_.

Olli sweeping the head of his cock up against him has Schneider shuddering noticeably, lifting his head. His shoulder blades are tensed. Olli doesn’t make either of them wait any longer. He begins pushing in, carefully. Schneider bears down, he can tell by how easily he slides in. Nothing to fight. Schneider makes a choked sound in his throat, head ducking down again.

Gripping Schneider’s hips in his hands, Olli pulls out, sinks in, repeating the motion a handful of times before Schneider is assuredly _not_ minding it. His harsh exhales of strain have evolved into soft sounds of pleasure, lodged in his chest. There’s no way in hell Olli is going to last long enough. His thrusting becomes shaky so quickly, his face hot, his insides hotter. That rising heat of arousal, of an upcoming orgasm.

A hand rests on his calf. He knows it’s Richard, stroking that touch across tense muscle. Olli is losing himself. The attention from Richard, the submissiveness of Schneider, giving himself up to Olli like this. Trusting him. Wanting him. Olli finds himself in a haze, submerged in the overwhelming feeling of equal, reciprocated lust. Being with these two in this way is satisfying beyond the physical sense. It makes him feel loved.

“Fuck him, come on,” Richard murmurs, a grin in his voice. Olli feels a hand on his ass, placed there simply, before it, naturally, evolves into a firm squeeze. He’s certainly willing to oblige that demand. He wraps his big hands more thoroughly around Schneider’s stomach, and begins pulling him back into the jarring thrusts of his hips. The connection of their bodies becomes louder. The groans rising out of Schneider are less restrained, more open in the display of pleasure. Olli is moaning himself, he realizes, as close as he is already. Richard is humming fondly with amusement from behind him. His hand continues roaming across Olli’s rocking hips, his back.

It spurs Olli on, until he’s truly fucking Schneider now—gripping at his thighs, he bows forward, driving into him deeply, continuously, until Schneider is collapsing forward onto his chest, hands clutching at the mattress, exclaiming a shout of pleasure following every connection. He hears a harsh, rapid snarl of “ _R-Richard!”_ and then Schneider is noticeably squirming, gasping. He goes still, locked up, shaking. Olli dazedly realizes Richard’s hand which once touched at his body is curled around to touch Schneider instead. His arm is moving in recognizable fashion, and when Olli glances over, he sees a broad, shit-eating grin on Richard’s face.

Richard’s unoccupied hand ends up on Olli’s lower back. Pushing, pushing, encouraging, until Olli refocuses and resumes the indulgent, fast pace, tugging Schneider back into the snap of his hips, hard enough it has Schneider groaning hoarsely. He jerks a hand back to wrap broad fingers firmly around Olli’s lean thigh. Olli feels him clench up tight around his cock. The sounds which pour forth from his mouth are unlike anything Olli has heard from him before. Ragged, genuine, and deep from his chest. He’s shaking uncontrollably against him. Richard is giggling, and lessens the quick jerking of his hand to a slower and firmer pulling. Schneider crumples forward, gasping. Olli follows right after, barely hanging on by a thread.

The orgasm that overcomes him is so powerful in nature, his thrusting becomes spasmodic, body trembling. For just a moment he doesn’t feel their hands, hears their panting, nor sees Schneider kneeling before him—and then that wound up spring within unravels, and he’s burying in as far as he can within Schneider. Schneider groans and murmurs something to him, low and quivering, though it remains unheard past the haze enveloping Olli. Hearing him speak, he comes back to himself, but doesn’t ask for him to repeat himself.

Utterly spent, Olli pulls out. Schneider lowers down onto his shoulder, twisting to look back at them with a red face and surprisingly docile eyes. He laughs then, rough and quiet, and sweeps his sweat-dampened hair back from his face. He drops onto his side, careful to navigate his legs around Olli. Olli moves out of the way, and then clumsily rises from the bed. He is quick to remove the condom and dispose of it, while he hears Schneider’s panting, Richard’s laughter.

“Out of ten?” Richard asks, snickering. Olli turns to the bed. Richard is already cradling Schneider’s face, leaning in to kiss him fleetingly on the mouth in a sweet gesture that brings a smile to Olli’s face. Schneider glances towards him, past Richard’s shoulder. He grins coyly, gesturing him closer. Olli climbs back onto the bed, still tremoring slightly. He feels physically exhausted. He drops onto the bed heavily beside the pair. They immediately detach, and reconnect around him. Olli melts back into the sheets that definitely need to be replaced now. Both of his roommates kiss him on opposite cheeks simultaneously, which has him bursting out a laugh. He looks between them, shy but not unbearably so. Schneider rests his head down beside Olli’s, and speaks in a contented exhale.

“Ten.”

“Of course Olli is a ten! Next time, it’ll be my turn,” Richard begins, insistently. Olli closes his eyes, soaking in the physical comfort. Richard lazily drapes his arm around his chest, while Schneider rests a hand on his heaving belly. Schneider shifts a little further down, Olli feels, to rest his cheek to Olli’s shoulder. It feels good. He really enjoys this.

Laying between them, Olli is exceptionally at peace. Reaffirmed, a smile lingers on his face.

“Well, don’t you look satisfied?” Richard teases, pinching him lightly on the side. Squirming, Olli brushes his hand away, laughing softly.

“Consider my doubts erased.”

“I see,” Schneider murmurs sleepily, “I know now if you ever have doubts, I should just let you fuck the hell out of me. Got it.”

Olli says nothing. He only smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


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